


a brief encounter in the snow

by hegemonwings



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Divergent, F/F, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), azure moon but byleth is on edelgard's side, crest wife, hegeleth, short and sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 13:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20967407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hegemonwings/pseuds/hegemonwings
Summary: The townspeople and trappers think there is a monster living up in the woods - they are half right. There are two.





	a brief encounter in the snow

There is a witch living in the snow capped woods, the villagers say.

She is half mad with hunger and grief, and where she stays in her cabin, no animals or men can follow. She has hair and eyes the color of earth-fresh sapphires, and she cloaks herself in the fur and skin of any animal she can lay her hands on. She is more feral creature than woman, and she learned her magicks right from the lips of a dragon, those ancient enemies of the Goddess. The children know the location of her hut well and avoid it steadily even in their naïve teenage bravado - when they talk of her at all, they only call her _yaga_ \- a tribesperson word for ‘barren place’, for fear of stumbling upon her real name and summoning her to their side in the wind. 

Sometimes, she comes to the village to trade. When she does, she goes to the general shop and all the laughter fades as parents shuffle their children inside. She purchases books, and bergamot leaves, and the seeds of flowers. The men used to mock and belittle the storekeeper for taking her undoubtedly cursed coin, but even that fell to the wayside when they saw the look in the shopkeep’s eyes: like tragedy had just befallen him. He will not speak of what he knows about the witch. No one will, until the King himself comes on a war horse, and asks after all this information. He speaks to the children gently and coaxes the location of the witch out of them. No one wants him to go - he is a good king, and true, but if he stands against the _yaga_ he will surely not escape untouched. 

But the King just smiles that silent smile of his, and continues onward, a small escort of soldiers behind him. 

***

“Why are you here, Dmitri?” The witch’s voice cracks from disuse, but traverses the distance between them with a familiar, quiet authority.

“Because,” the good king says, his spear of bone in hand, “you are harboring a criminal of the Crown.”

A beat passes. “Have you not taken enough from me and her already?” Dmitri cannot see the witch’s eyes with the tuft of down pouring snow, but he can feel her, his spear resonating quietly in his hand with the hungry longsword undoubtedly hidden beneath her mantle.

“I have taken nothing from either of you. You are the losers of a war of aggression that you initiated. I am well within my right to take both of your heads.”

The witch laughs ugily. “Lectured on rights by my beloved student the Mad King. What do you know, Dmitri?”

“I know about the lives you stole from me.”

“Again! You believe everything belongs to you. You believe selfishness is a trait that lets others grow strong in your garden. The very picture of a noble, spilling blood from your inferiors for the sake of a status quo that benefits you. I am disappointed in you, Dmitri. You have just enough vision to see without comprehending.” The witch raises the Sword of the Creator above her head, the only thing visible at this distance being its faint red glow and the shadow over her face. 

“You are not my teacher any longer. You are just a monster wearing her skin and holding another monster to your breast, repeating her words for her.” The King’s hands grip the haft of his spear so tightly that it threatens to bruise.

Another ugly laugh. “Tell me, King Dmitri. Does a creature wearing Volkhard von Arundel’s skin yet live? Does Archbishop Rhea still draw breath in her sickbed, staying the same age while you all become older and slower? Do your men still bring you reports of the Death Knight monthly, despite his demise, abducted women on his horse?” She brings the sword down, its red aura cutting the air visibly. 

“What is the meaning of any of this? Do you think the Archbishop and these men yet live?”

The witch’s voice dips suddenly, losing any tone or excitement. She sounds calm and sterile, as she did, long ago, in front of a professor’s blackboard. “It doesn’t matter. I cannot teach someone who will not learn, someone who doesn’t comprehend the shape of the viper lurking in their bed. Come and kill me, Dmitri, if you believe you can now.”

Dmitri doesn’t move. Everything is still for awhile, tension rising in the air as two figures face each other. A complicated look rises to the King’s face, somewhere between anger and sorrow - and then the sorrow wins out, the berserker’s blood falling out of his face and figuratively pooling at his feet. 

“I don’t want to do this,” he whispers. “Please, Professor.” 

The witch’s combat stance stiffens, freezing. She hesitates slightly.

“Then go home, Dmitri. Go rule your kingdom. You are the victor. We are the dead.” The Sword of the Creator falls. “You walked over our corpses a long time ago. We merely wish for each other’s company until we’re forgotten by history.” The witch’s figure turns and starts to leave, but the King yells after her.

“Is she...still of sound mind?”

“...Yes.”

Dmitri closes his eyes, blinking into the wind. Inside of his eyelids, he can see his hands joining together with the Edelgard of so many years ago, the Edelgard that taught him to dance. 

“I will not do you the indignity of asking after her forgiveness. But tell her...tell Edelgard I regret this outcome more than any other. And take care of her and yourself.” 

The witch merely nods after a moment. The red glow of her weapon disappears into her cloak again. “We will not speak again, Dmitri. Keep the people you love close,” she says, turning and disappearing into the snowy wind like a ghost. 

***

The witch takes the monster’s hand and presses it to her cheek, nuzzling it like an affectionate cat. The monster’s fingers curl delicately around the witch’s head, a long pointer running through her sapphire hair.

“Byleth. You were gone longer than usual.”

Byleth climbs into bed next to where her wife slumbers like a great dragon, laying flat on her back so she might look into the eyes of the last Adrestian Emperor like one may lay on a hill to gaze into the stars. Slowly, daintly, she reaches up and grips each of Edelgard’s clawed, monstrous fingers in her palm one at a time, kissing them at the twisted knuckle in turn. The gesture is tender and worshipful, but Byleth’s eyes fill with tears and her voice cracks when she does speak. 

“I thought I saw someone I knew once,” she says, into the chitinous hand lovingly stroking her, “but I was mistaken.”


End file.
